


prompt fill: pining

by siegeofangels



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 20:28:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6129092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siegeofangels/pseuds/siegeofangels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is pining and then there is not pining.</p>
            </blockquote>





	prompt fill: pining

“You know, you’re gonna have to stop fucking pining once we’re actually in a war, Brad,” Ray said, back at Mathilda. They’d sent Reporter off to look for the Humvee keys, so it was just the two of them and yards and yards of sand-colored netting. Brad hadn’t signed up for this to be a fucking seamstress, but he also didn’t want to get shot, so.

“I know,” he said, tersely, and yanked a strap tighter. “It won’t be a problem.” 

And it wasn’t a problem; he just pushed it down, along with the other parts of himself that he didn’t need out there in the AO: the part that knew how to shop at grocery stores and the part that woke up for gunfire and the part that slept in till eleven. And the part of him that saw Nate Fick as anything other than his lieutenant. 

It woke up with a fucking vengeance once he was on the airplane back to the States, though; he closed his eyes for a nap and woke up from a dream of sea-green eyes looking deep into his own (not even Fick’s mouth, not something he could tell himself was just sex) and realized he was totally fucked. 

***

It turns out that he can be more than 100% fucked, though, because telling Ray anything personal increases the amount of fuckedupitude on a logarithmic scale. 

Brad spends longer than he would care to admit thinking about Nate Fick, fantasizing about Nate Fick, missing Nate Fick, jerking off slowly and luxuriously to the thought of Nate Fick. 

Before he realizes it he’s stranded at a restaurant with the lieutenant--the captain--the civilian--who looks just as good as ever. His hair’s a little longer than Brad’s used to but his eyes are the same, his lips twist the same wry way. Brad wants to smell him, wants to cover his body with his own and breathe him in.

They order.

“Not that it’s not good to see you, but do you have any idea why Ray left? Is this a romcom and I didn’t know?” Fick says, smiling.

And Brad, because he is not a coward, he is *not*, says, “Yes.” 

“ . . . yes?” 

“Yes,” Brad says. “Ideally.” And he sets his hand on the table. 

“Brad,” Fick says softly, more softly than Brad has ever heard him say any other word, and Brad wants more than anything to hear it again. “I . . . I love all of you so fiercely that it feels selfish to even think about wanting more.” 

Brad swallows, because that’s not a *no*.

“Nate,” he says deliberately, because this is not *then*, they are not *them* anymore. “Be fucking selfish.” 

Nate takes a deep breath, as though the thought of being selfish is more frightening than walking into a firefight. “Okay,” he says, and nods, the same quick solid nod that he’d do when he made a decision on the field and meant to stick with it. “Okay. I’ll try being selfish.” 

And he reaches out his hand.


End file.
